Find Wonder In All Things (8 page)

“You’ve been spending a considerable amount of time with my daughter of late.”

“Yessir.”

Mr. Elliot turned back to his whittling.

“What are you making?” James asked politely.

“Walking stick. Made from hickory. You whittle?”

“No sir.”

“Like to hike?”

“Maybe, a little.”

“Fish?”

“Um . . . not recently, no.”

“No whittling, no hiking, no fishing. What’s your passion then?”

James was taken aback. “What?”

“What’s your passion? What do you love?”

Is this a trick question?
“I’m not quite sure what you . . . ”

“To do? What do you want to do? What do you study?”

“I’m a business major . . . ”

“So you study the nickels and dimes. Yet it appears you have little interest in the natural world.” Mr. Elliot smiled wryly to himself and muttered, “An economist without knowledge of nature is like a physicist without knowledge of mathematics.”

“Pardon?”

“Just a little kernel of wisdom from Carl Linnaeus, the father of modern ecology.” He paused. “A business major . . . ” Mr. Elliot was unimpressed. “So you love money then?”

“Who doesn’t?” James joked, but then he realized Mr. Elliot wasn’t amused.

Laurel came out onto the porch, the screen door banging behind her. “Mama says dinner’s ready.”

Mr. Elliot rose from his chair, folded up his pocketknife and laid the half-finished walking stick against the arm of his rocker.

After a brief introduction to Mrs. Elliot, James took a seat next to Laurel at the round, oak table in the kitchen. Several mismatched chairs surrounded it, and the table was set with dishes of various designs and patterns. Huge bowls of mashed potatoes, green beans, cornbread and a plate of fried chicken graced the middle.

The younger Elliots descended on the table like hummingbirds around a birdfeeder. The twins piled their plates high and shoveled the food into their mouths.

“Boys, slow down,” their mother admonished.

“We’re going fishing after dinner,” Dylan muffled through a mouthful of food.

“Gotta hurry,” Crosby added.

Mrs. Elliot sighed. She took a sip of water and watched the newcomer at her table with wary eyes. “So, James, how do you like working at the marina?”

Laurel’s elusive mother certainly piqued his curiosity, and he had to force himself not to stare at her. Beverly Elliot was tall like Laurel, but that was the only physical trait they shared. Her hair was a mousy brown, streaked with gray and pulled back into a severe ponytail that reached down her back. Her nondescript hazel eyes had a flat, empty look to them, and her mouth was drawn into a thin, humorless line. James wondered how this woman could have birthed the beautiful, colorful creature sitting beside him, covertly holding his hand under the table. He tried to formulate what he thought Mrs. Elliot would deem an appropriate answer to her question. “I’m grateful for the work, ma’am. It will help me a lot with school expenses.”

Mrs. Elliot simply looked at him.

“James is going to the University of Dayton, Mama,” Laurel explained patiently. She gifted him with an adoring smile. “He’s studying business.”

“How do you study business?” Mrs. Elliot looked genuinely confused. “Business is something you do” — She cast a fleeting look at her husband — “or not, as the case may be.”

Mr. Elliot seemed not to notice his wife’s subtle criticism. “Education is a fine thing for a young person to pursue, Beverly, as long as the knowledge gained is used to better the world.” He put a forkful of chicken in his mouth and chewed for several seconds while the others waited for him to finish his thought. Finally, he went on, “I think I saw a copperhead today — didn’t get close enough to tell for sure though.”

Dylan and Crosby clamored to hear all about his close encounter with the snake, and much to James’s relief, the conversation shifted away from him. Over the next several minutes, he discovered that in this family the threads of discussion changed with startling rapidity due to Mr. Elliot’s abrupt introduction of obscure topics. James sometimes had trouble keeping up although Mr. Elliot seemed content to pontificate without anyone responding. Laurel chimed in on occasion, and Spring sat looking at her empty plate, listening but saying nothing. She was a chubby little thing with mousy brown hair and hazel eyes like her mother. Mrs. Elliot eyed James blankly throughout the meal. It was almost bizarre — the way she was there but not really there. It was impossible for James to tell whether she liked him or not, or whether she even cared who her daughter had been dating all summer. He understood now why Laurel had taken so long to bring him home with her. He hadn’t thought it was possible, but her family was even stranger than his was.

After dinner, James took his plate to the sink because his mom always complimented his friends when they did that. Dylan and Crosby took off on their fishing expedition, and Laurel and her dad washed up the dishes, declining his offer to help. After trying several times to start a conversation with Laurel’s mom, he sat in silence on the couch. Mrs. Elliot was working on some knitting, but in a few minutes, with an agitated sigh, she got up and left the room. He didn’t see her again before they left the Elliot’s house.

* * *

The pickup truck rolled to a stop on the state park playground. Laurel parked away from the street lamp so as not to draw attention and turned off the engine. They both sat for a second, she looking down at her lap, he looking across the seat at her. But then, she raised her eyes to his, and suddenly they were in each other’s arms, kissing. He pulled her close. She shifted until she was on top of him, with a knee on either side of his hips, grinding against him as he slid his hands all over her. After a time that seemed both too short and almost too long, he made himself stop. She leaned her warm trembling body against his while he stroked her hair and down her back in a soothing motion. Each time they did this, he came closer to losing control of the situation, and it worried him. He had never felt quite this way about a girl before — protective one minute and predatory the next.

Laurel had an intellectual understanding of the birds and bees, of course, but that was different from exploring the nest and the hive up close and personal. She was both an eager student and a quick learner, and what troubled him was that he repeatedly found himself trying to make her lose control as well. Tonight, given the sounds she made and the current disarray of their clothing, he’d come very close to succeeding. He pulled the hem of her tank top down over the flat, soft surface of her stomach, dragging his knuckles seductively across her skin.

“Okay there, sweetheart?” He felt her nod.

He chuckled. “That’s good, because I’m not.”

Her head snapped up from his shoulder and she pushed herself off him. “Oh, I’m . . . I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I — ”

“Shh.” He stroked her hair and let his fingers slide down her neck and across her collarbone. “It’s okay,” he murmured.

She looked down and mumbled, “You must think I’m such a naïve twit or a tease — ”

“No, I don’t.” His voice was hoarse, but gentle. “It’s fine, Laurel, honest.” He couldn’t seem to take his hands off her completely, but he confined himself to her shoulders and outside her clothes. “I’ll never ask you to do something you’re not ready for, I promise. Although,” he teased lightly, “I don’t think I can promise not to try and convince you.”

Searching his face with piercing eyes that shone in the moonlight, she reached up and ran her hand along his jaw. Wide-eyed and earnest, she whispered, “And I can’t promise not to let myself be convinced.”

He shivered and took her hand in his. “How about we walk a little?” He opened the passenger door and pulled her along with him. They walked to the playground and sat on the merry-go-round platform, facing each other.

He intertwined his fingers with hers. “Laurel?”

“Yes?” Her voice was still throaty from the rush of desire.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, but it never seemed like a good time to bring it up. Have you thought about the fall?”

“What about it?”

“What we’ll do about . . . us?”

“What do you want to do?” Her voice was soft, guarded.

“Well, Stuart and Virginia see other people when the summer is over.”

Her face was solemn, but she didn’t answer.

All at once, words tumbled out of his mouth. “But I don’t think I want that . . . for us. Can we try to keep this going once school starts again? I know it will be tough, being in different cities — ”

She interrupted him, her voice filled with excitement and relief. “Yes. I don’t know exactly how it will work, but yes . . . we can try.” She smiled her brilliant smile. “I want to try, because . . . I love you.”

He was mesmerized by her, so mesmerized that the big scary words she uttered didn’t even faze him. He wanted to bask in her smile and feel the red silk of her hair covering him while he held her. He wanted to crawl inside her skin. She made him think he could do anything — that anything was possible, even this:

“I love you, too.”

Chapter 6

Mr. Elliot swung open the kitchen door and stuck his head through, frowning. “Mountain Laurel, stop moping around and fill the salt and peppers.” This was uncharacteristically stern talk from father to daughter, and James stole a glance over at her while he stacked dishes on the shelves.

Huffing, she grabbed a tray to carry salt and pepper shakers, banged the door open with her hip, and disappeared into the dining room. Yes, she
was
moping a little, but then again, so was he. Summer was over. He had packed most of his things and cleaned up the Pendletons’ boat. Stuart would arrive the next day around noon, and the two of them would travel back to Ohio. A few days at home and then it was back to the grind of classes.

With Laurel leaving the following Sunday, this would be their last night together for who knew how long. He never expected it would be this difficult to leave her behind. He had a lead on a used car when he got home, but even with his own wheels, he might only get to see her once or twice before the semester break. It wasn’t that he couldn’t live without her — he just didn’t want to.

But this was the way of things. People moved on with their lives, didn’t they? It couldn’t be helped. But he wondered: if Stu felt half as much for Virginia as he did for Laurel, how did they do this separation thing year after year?

James heard Mr. Elliot’s voice, low and urgent behind the door, and leaned in closer to hear.

“Just make sure you’re home on time. Your mother will — ”

“I know, I know,” Laurel interrupted. “She’ll have a fit.”

“And Laurel, I don’t want you on that houseboat, do you understand? I don’t want you getting into a situation you can’t handle.”

James felt his mouth go dry. Torn between feeling offended and feeling guilty, he couldn’t honestly say he hadn’t thought about bringing her to the boat — and for the very reason her father was warning her against it.

“Dad, we’re going to town to see a movie. It will be fine.”

There was no response.

“James would never hurt me, Dad. Never.”

“I hope you’re right, daughter.”

“I am right. You don’t need to worry.” Her voice grew louder as she approached the swinging door next to his ear, and James stepped away before she could catch him eavesdropping.

“Change of plans.” Laurel smiled, but her eyes were serious. “Can you meet me at the top of the hill instead of the boat?”

“Sure. What — ?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell you later.”

* * *

James climbed into the passenger seat of the pickup, and Laurel stepped on the gas and squealed out of the parking lot.

“Whoa there!” He put a hand on the dash to steady himself.

She shot him a blazing glare, making his heart pound with an unexpected burst of excitement, but then her eyes softened, and she shook her head. “Sorry. Dad kind of ticked me off tonight. I guess I’m still a little miffed.”

“Miffed? The woman’s ‘a little miffed.’ Miffed about what?”

“He said . . . ” She paused, thinking, but then she just shrugged, looking a little petulant. “Nothing.”

Laurel drove up to the main highway and stopped. A lone car went past, and they were wreathed in darkness once again, with only the streetlight to illuminate them. She didn’t turn onto the road, though. Instead, she turned to him and searched his face as if looking for an answer to one of life’s big questions. After a few seconds, she spoke, her voice becoming stronger with each word. “I don’t feel much like a movie, do you?”

“Um, okay.”

“Let’s take a drive instead.”

“Sure, whatever you say. Where to?”

“I know a place, around the other side of the lake. It’s nice . . . quiet. We can sit by the water and look at the stars.”

“Fine by me,” he agreed, wondering what this was all about.

“I put some beer in a cooler and brought some blankets for us to sit on.”